


Plump as a Peach

by Winterwasp



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, one-sided Sansa Stark/ Loras Tyrell, promptfill, silly!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 13:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterwasp/pseuds/Winterwasp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt: "Sansa writes a love letter intended for Loras, but Sandor ends up with it instead."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plump as a Peach

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This drabble must be situated somewhere between the Hand's tourney and Eddard Stark's imprisonment. It's an AU insofar that Sansa professes her love for another, even if she is still very much enamored with Joffrey during this stage.
> 
> This fic is an answer to Bighound-littlebird's Tumblr prompt: "Sansa writes a love letter intended for Loras, but Sandor ends up with it instead."
> 
> All right belong to George R.R. Martin

“Dog, escort Lady Sansa to her room.” Sansa was left stunned and without a second word when Joffrey stalked off with his new crossbow.

 

She had tried to stay out of the Hound’s way since the night of the tourney. His sad story and his obvious distress had moved her, but the threat he delivered at her bedchamber door had sealed that compassion with fear.

 

And now she was stuck with him, again. _At least he’s not drunk, now_.

 

“ _My lady_.” Sandor Clegane offered her his arm, his tone blatantly mocking.

 

“Se- My lord,” she said as she took his offer, relieved that she stood on his left side, so she didn’t have to look at his scars.

 

They walked through the gardens in silence, and reached the courtyard that led to the Tower of the Hand.

 

“How your cheeks are plump as a peach,” the Hound suddenly rasped beside her. It made Sansa throw a stare at him, but Clegane acted as if nothing was amiss and he didn’t just utter that sentence.

 

She didn’t know how to react to it, and the Hound had such an uneven temper, so she decided not to say anything about it.

 

“My dearest wish would be fulfilled if I could slip my hands through your beautiful lazy brown curls,” he said when they were but a few steps farther. And then, Sansa felt a knot form itself in her belly. She _knew_ that line. The realization made her freeze up. She didn’t dare to look at the Hound’s face now.

 

“My heart skips a beat every time I hear your name, or peer into your eyes of liquid gold.”

 

 _How how how? How did the Hound know?_ Sansa’s mind raced as she battled the desire to throw away all courtesy and flee from him.

 

“My Florian, my gallant handsome _knight_.” Clegane, who had recited her verses dryly up until then, couldn’t repress the sneer.

 

Sansa’s cheeks were as red as a beet. Biting her lip, she understood that the only way she would find out how Sandor Clegane knew the content of her letter meant for Loras Tyrell, was by asking him. _How he likes to mock me._ She took a moment to gather her courage to swallow the bitter draught.

 

“You offered me a rose, I offer you my heart,” Clegane drawled on in his awful metal-on-stone voice.

 

“M-my lord, might I inquire where you’ve learned these gallant phrases,” she cut in bravely, hoping in vain he would leave her some dignity.

 

He stopped them then, right in front of the tower door. He turned her way, and she felt his stare on her, but she was loath to show him her discomfort.

 

“Does that interest you, little bird? Might be I’ll give you the answer, if you’re bold enough to look me in the eye.”

 

She took a deep breath and lifted her face. His terrible scars were still the same. He was wearing a foul smirk and the burned corner of his mouth was twitching.

 

“I’m sorry my cheeks aren’t as plump as peaches,” he rasped.

 

“You haven’t answered my question.”

 

He sniffed. “Never trust your _confident correspondence_ to a stupid serving boy. Half the time they just leave it with the first important looking person they come across. ‘To Loras Tyrell’ is nothing to them but a bunch of pretty curly written letters. You’re lucky he didn’t just dump it somewhere in a hallway, believe that.”

 

His explanation left her speechless. She had been so giddy when she wrote that letter, feeling like a maid from the stories, declaring their love. Never did she imagine her poetry would end up in the hands of the Hound.

 

“Come, little bird.” He led her in the tower and up the stairs.

 

When they approached her bedchamber door, she made herself ask.

 

“What did you do with the dry-pressed rose and the letter?”

 

She thought he wouldn’t react to her question at first. Then he turned to her with an unreadable expression. “I’m keeping them. Might be you’d like to trade something for them.”

 

The answer confused her. “Like what?”

 

“Surprise me,” he said as he left her.


End file.
